Remember?
by A Beautiful Oblivion
Summary: "The Farm. It wasn't much of one was it? Not a proper farm. We grew some food. I don't remember any animals though. Maybe a few dogs."


**Replayed _Revelations_. Heard line below. Got idea for Fanfiction.**

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_"The Farm. It wasn't much of one was it? Not a proper farm. We grew some food. I don't remember any animals though. Maybe a few dogs."_

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"Okay, that's enough for today. Class dismissed."

Desmond yawned and looked at the clock, his young brain taking a few seconds to process what the placement of the hands meant. It was 3:00. He brightened; usually his father kept the class a lot later than this, sometimes until five or six. He stretched in his chair and glared once more at the history on the board before shoving his books inside his desk, heading for the door with the rest of the class.

This particular class only had around fifteen children in it, ranging from age six to age ten. Desmond was in the middle of that age group, having turned eight the month before. He guessed it was hard for his father, teaching such a wide age group. Especially when the subject for that month was ancient history. They'd just learned about Ancient Roman Assassins, like Brutus and Leonius. Desmond loved Assassin history. From the little he'd learned, he found it to be interesting.

But today had dragged on, and he was eager to leave. His friends, Caleb and Alex, walked just ahead. Desmond hurried to catch up. "Wait up, guys!"

The other two boys turned and stopped for him. Alex was nine, with light brown hair and forest green eyes, while Caleb was Desmond's age, with pale blond hair and blue eyes.

"Thanks." Desmond grinned at them.

"Ugh, that lesson today was so _pointless_!" Alex complained. "Who cares about history? I mean, it already happened."

"And no offence..." Caleb added, glancing at Desmond. "But your dad is getting more boring by the day. When do we get to start _training_?"

The trio exited the school building. Desmond, tired of having both history _and _his father insulted, started to drift toward the cornfield, already up to his waist. "I'll see you later."

Caleb and Alex waved, then went back to their conversation. Desmond purposely tuned out anything he might hear and headed even further right, circling around the schoolhouse. The back of it looked even worse than the front. If no one saw it, there was no need to repair it, right?

He ignored the state of the building and turned back toward the empty field. Putting his fingers to his mouth, Desmond let out a long, piercing whistle, then dropped his hands and waited.

After about ten seconds, barking resounded across the corn. Birds closer and closer to the boy took flight, startled by the noise and activity. Fifteen seconds after it was called, a large, long-haired Bernese Mountain dog came bounding out of the crops, tongue lolling and running as fast as her paws could carry her.

Desmond's small eight-year-old body braced itself for impact. The dog slammed on the brakes, rearing up on her hind legs, and placed her front paws on his shoulders, attacking his face with her tongue.

"Indigo!" Desmond laughed. "Stop it!" He maneuvered his face around hers and hugged her fiercely, schoolbag forgotten behind him.

Indigo dropped back onto all fours and pushed her face into the boy's hand, staring up at him with wide brown eyes.

Desmond smiled, then turned and reached into his bag. "Indy..." he began mischievously, withdrawing a foot-long length of rope. He turned and held it up in front of him. Indigo made a lunge for it. "Ah ah," Desmond warned, and she stopped, head tilted and tail still wagging furiously.

"Sit." She did. Desmond knelt in front of her and held out his free hand. "Paw."

Looking as though she wanted so bad to grab the rope, Indigo placed her paw in his hand.

"Good girl!" Desmond praised, then swung the rope around, above her head. She leapt for it, clamping her strong jaws around it and practically yanking the boy's arms off as she landed.

Desmond swung the rope from side to side as Indigo growled and shook her head, pulling on it.

"What are you doing?"

Desmond jumped and dropped the rope, expecting his mother behind him. But it was just a small blonde girl. He recognized her from their classes, but had just never learned her name.

Behind him, Indigo dropped with the rope in her jaws, chewing on it triumphantly.

"Just playing with... a dog." Desmond had almost said _my dog _before realizing that Indigo belonged to the Farm, not to him.

The girl tipped her head. "He's cute."

"Uh, _she_," Desmond corrected. "Her name's Indigo."

"Can I pet her?" The girl took a step closer.

"Um, sure." Desmond turned to the dog. "Indigo, _drop it_," he said firmly. "Sit." She looked at him disdainfully, then did what he said.

"Wow, she really listens to you," the girl commented, then stepped forward and offered her hand to Indigo

"You're in my class, right?" Desmond asked, even though he knew she was. "What's your name?" Now that she was closer, he could see her striking blue eyes and freckled cheeks.

"Oh, I'm Lucy." She crouched down and scratched Indigo behind the ear. "She's so soft."

"Yeah." Pause.

"You're Desmond?" Lucy didn't look at him. "Your father teaches us?"

"Yeah," he repeated. Another pause. "How come I've never seen you outside class?"

Lucy shrugged, still staring at the dog. "My father doesn't like me going out much, even here. He says I could get killed at any time."

"_Here_?" Desmond was appalled. "But it's safe here!"

She looked at him now, hand resting on Indigo's head. The girl's eyes were so hard, her gaze so intense, Desmond found himself wanting to look away. "You'd be surprised."

He just blinked.

Lucy stood, withdrawing her hand. Indigo nudged the girl's hand, wanting more, but Lucy ignored her. "I should go."

"Uh... Yeah. Bye." Indigo pressed herself to Desmond's side. Her soft, thick fur felt reassuring to him.

He watched Lucy until she had rounded the corner, then sat down and crossed his legs. Indigo immediately curled up next to him, rope forgotten. Desmond absentmindedly stroked the dog. Something about that girl had unsettled him. Maybe it was her eyes, or the seriousness with which she talked. But he got an odd feeling when he looked at her.

For the next few months, Desmond watched Lucy in class when he knew she wasn't looking. He wasn't exactly sure what he was watching for, but he knew he'd know it when he saw it. He soon got bored of watching and gave up.

Lucy never came to the back of the schoolhouse again, nor did she ask about Indigo. In fact, she acted like she still didn't know him, like what had happened never _did _happen. Desmond soon forgot about that afternoon, and soon forgot about her.

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Seventeen years later and five thousand miles away, Lucy stared at Desmond after Warren had left.

Desmond, whose guard was still up, looked at her with suspicion. "What?" he demanded.

"You don't remember?" Lucy wondered.

"Remember _what_?"

"1995? _Indigo_?" she pressed.

Desmond still felt a pang of sadness; Indigo had died when he was fifteen. He _did _remember her, but wasn't sure what that had to do with Lucy. 1995...? He would've been seven or eight.

Suddenly it clicked. He remembered that afternoon, the hot July sun, the sound of Indigo's growls as she tugged on the rope. And he remembered Lucy. He didn't trust her then and he didn't trust her now.

Clearly Lucy was expecting some sort of great revelation, so when Desmond just nodded, she looked downcast.

"But wait..." Desmond remembered something. "If you were there, doesn't that make you—?"

"Shh!" Lucy cut him off, then her eyes flicked to an area behind him. Desmond turned. A camera.

So Lucy was an Assassin. Why was she here?

And why did she want so much for him to remember?

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**Bah that last sentence bugs me. No matter how I tried I couldn't get it worded right.**

**Ah well. Hope you enjoyed 8D**


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